Roadtime & Forgiveness

It's no wonder we listen to music when we travel in the car.

For one, it passes the time brilliantly. I've been doing quite a bit of car travel, and there is absolutely nothing like music and songs to make the ride move along more quickly. I have also found that singing along with songs I know and love, unlike texting, helps me focus and handle stressful driving situations much better than when driving in silence.

For another, boy-- isn't it uncomfortable to sit alone with your thoughts sometimes? I am practiced at meditation, and being a relatively confident person, I am unafraid of letting thoughts come and go as they will. This week, however, seems to be a bit different.

There was a little kitten, one I loved and adored, who stayed with me for a week before passing. I had found it isolated and alone on the side of the road, only to discover that its family was a quarter of a mile back and that momma cat was overwhelmed and not taking care of her babies very well. I was head over heels with this little guy. I took it home to give it a home-- or at least give it a chance.

I won't go into detail because I'm still sad, but the kitten ended up dying. I'm convinced it was my fault, through a combination of ignorance and some anxiety, along with being improperly prepared to care for the little guy. Now,  I love my two older cats. Dearly. I don't have kids, so they benefit from my being able to dote on them without competition. They, too, were rescued as babies from starvation on the streets of Queens, NY. Even then, I did not feel the sort of absolute love I felt for the little kitten. I don't know why it was so particularly strong.

Anyway, the death of the kitten happened about a year ago. It had only lived with me for seven days. For some reason, the spirit of this little kitten has been hanging around and sending me into tears and feelings of regret.

My more hardy friends may laugh at my sentimentality. That's fine. This emotional reaction has surprised me too. For a week now, on and off, this little kitten and my role in its death has been a constant companion.

Yesterday, I took a longer trip than usual, and had exhausted my music. Once I turned it off, however, my thoughts returned to the little guy. My mind strove to make connections-- why now? why so powerful? Why so emotional? Is this memory trying to tell me something? Should I be on my guard? Is it, like a dream, trying to signify something broader in my life? Or is the spirit of this little cat truly around me? I never even had a chance to give it a name.

Before you know it, I'm crying behind the wheel-- which is probably as distracting as anything.

This whole episode left me with a few thoughts. One, is that when you hold the life of somebody, anybody-- a pet, a friend, a child, a patient-- in your hands, you are ultimately still a human being with all of the faults and failures and love that a human being can offer. No matter what you do, sometimes, no matter how strong your love or care-- it's not enough. Sometimes love itself is not enough. Sometimes. Regret, too, is powerful. And so is forgiveness-- although, when you are truly responsible for another being's life, forgiveness can be a harder one to swallow. I think we play games with ourselves when we say "forgive" -- we really mean "shove it aside into the corners of our mind and hearts and don't think about it." Actual, real forgiveness-- it's a bit harder to achieve, isn't it?

Do I really believe that the kitten would have survived if I had done things differently? Yes, I do. In reflection over my actions, in hindsight, yes. I could have done better. So I regret. I'm sad. And I've lost a bit of trust in my ability to handle something as delicate as another creature's life. Will I let my anxiety override the care another creature needs? Will I make more mistakes and let a life slip away in front of me when I could have done more to help? Will I recognize what's needed? What if it had been a child? Or a friend? Or a parent? Obviously the same mistakes wouldn't apply-- but would the same weaknesses?

Forgiveness, of one's mistakes and one's human limits-- in the face of the death of another-- is not easy. I didn't reach it during my silent car ride. I think I'd rather have listened to music instead.